The two detectives looked at each other. Starling shrugged wearily at Owens, then turned, donning his best ‘suffering civil servant’ face, thanked Wallenberg and said that while they were here, they might as well check the records in Security. Wallenberg nodded his understanding and escorted them back to the lift. After the detectives entered, Wallenberg leaned in and voice-authorized the lift to take the detectives to the designated floor. The doors closed and the lift traveled downward towards it programmed destination.
The lift came to a stop three floors below ground level and the doors opened onto a brightly lit room that smelled strongly of disinfectant. There were three desks aligned in a row centered on the floor and racks of weapons and emergency cabinets anchored to the walls on either side. A woman was leaning over one of the desks.
She had an athletic build and wore a dark blue, one-piece jumpsuit with a Stone Billings Corporate Security badge at the throat. Riding low on her hips was a belt festooned with mag-cuffs, a stun wand, pouches and other tools of her trade. She was gazing intently at a small holo-screen display hovering above the last desk as Starling and Owens walked into the room.
She heard their entry, straightened and looked up, the holo-screen winked out. “Detectives Starling and Owens,” she greeted them with a warm smile that belied her prison guard appearance. “Mr. Wallenberg sent word ahead you were coming down. Welcome to the dungeon. The records room is off the door to your right. We’re a little short-handed right now, but we have a number of records clerks on-duty. Go right on in and they should be able to help you pull the data you want.” She gestured to a large door.
They thanked her and went over to the door. It slid into its casement and revealed a wide rectangular room lined with numerous rows of cubicles on either side of open aisles along with a few scattered desks. The room was bigger than they had expected and Owens estimated it could easily accommodate a hundred workers.
Given that the security officer said there were records clerks on-duty to assist them, Owens found it strange no one was in immediate sight. The walls of the cubicles were high enough to prevent a casual observer from seeing their occupants, but they saw not a single person in the aisles or at the desks positioned in the open spaces.
They walked over to the nearest cubicle and looked in. Sitting on the work area was a cup of coffee. Steam was still rising from the hot liquid. Otherwise, the cubicle was empty. Owens was close enough that with his height, he could peer over the partition and look into the neighboring cubicle. “This one’s empty too.” They looked at each other and walked over to the next cubicle. It was deserted as well. Starling looked puzzled and scratched his round stomach while Owens listened intently for any sounds. There should have been some human voices or noises of activity in the background, but there was no sound other than the muted hum of the ventilation system.
“This isn’t right.” Owens said and drew his sidearm.
“Shit.” Starling grimaced and drew his own gun. He called out, “Is anyone here? We’re detectives Starling and Owens. We’re here on official business. We were told you’d be expecting us?” He paused to listen. No one answered. With his free hand, Starling pulled his P-com out of his pocket and flipped it to transmit. He snarled, “Damn it, no signal! This is looking worse by the minute.” He dropped the P-com back into his pocket and used his now free hand to wipe the sweat off his brow.
They looked at each other without speaking, straining to hear any sound. Still hearing nothing, they nodded to each other and cautiously made their way back to the door they had entered. They were not surprised when it did not activate on their approach. It remained solidly closed.
Starling shook his head and sighed. He motioned to Owens. While Owens covered him, Starling opened the small panel next to the door and pulled the manual release handle. It came off in his hand. The pin, locking the handle to the lever’s shaft, had been removed. He dropped the useless handle and it bounced quietly on the thick carpet. Owens looked at the door and wondered if he could break it down with his weight and Loder muscles. He rapped it with his hand and heard a muted thump. It was solid and metal clad, probably a fire door. There would be no breaking that down.
Owens turned, hearing a soft rustling was coming from the other end of the long room. Someone had tried to be quiet and failed. Then, he heard a distant mechanical click, as if someone had thrown a lever. He quickly lunged, grabbing Starling by the arm and dragged him forcefully to the floor. Unprepared for Owens’ rough handling, Starling dropped his weapon and it bounced about a meter away from his extended hand.
Starling rolled over to face Owens lying near him. His eyes bulged from their sockets, “What in the hell are you trying to do? You almost yanked my arm out of its socket.” A split second later, the wall of the nearest cubicle exploded in a shower of debris as a deafening roar assaulted their ears. “Shit, shit,” Starling exclaimed. His eyes suddenly widened, “That was a projectile gun,” he told Owens unnecessarily.
Owens put a finger to his lips.
Starling nodded jerkily, rattled from the weapon’s loud blast. Still wincing from Owens’ rough handling, he crawled the short distance and fumbled for his weapon. With his gun back in his hand, he returned to Owens’ side and whispered, “Did you see ‘em? How many are there?”
Owens shook his head and whispered back, “They’re somewhere at the other end of this room. I don’t know how many; these cubicles are blocking my view. Don’t move. I’ll take a look.”
“Don’t get your ass shot off. I don’t want to have to train another rookie.”
Owens didn’t reply as he began to inch forward in a low crouch. He needed to find exactly where the gunman or gunmen were positioned. He stopped before he reached the end of the line of cubicles. He extended his hand around the corner and fired his own weapon in the approximate direction of where he thought the gunshot had originated. The muzzle of his gun flashed in bright discharge. In contrast to the projectile gun, his weapon made a sharp cracking sound as the laser pulse was released.
He quickly retracted his arm and raised his head for a quick look, then immediately slouched back down. He turned around to Starling and mouthed, “They’re at the other end of the cubicles. I think I saw two heads.” He held up two fingers. Just then, the gunmen fired again and more pieces of cubicle and dust rained down on them. “We need to separate.”
Starling nodded that he understood. Owens then reached around the cubicle he crouched behind and fired two more shots down the aisle. After he fired, he rolled across the aisle to gain concealment behind another set of cubicles. Starling dove in the opposite direction and ducked behind a large metal desk sitting near the cubicles closest to the door.
There was another thunderous roar and a part of the cubicle Owens was sheltering against erupted. A large chunk of paneling and metal framework disintegrated. A flying shard grazed his right cheek. His face burned and drops of blood fell to the carpeted floor, disappearing into the dark nap. He swiped at his stinging cheek with the back of his hand and fired his weapon again. Depending on how much ammunition the gunmen had, he knew the flimsy shielding provided by the cubicles wouldn’t last long.
Owens kept low and tried to think clearly. He had to fight back his growing frustration. They walked into the ambush like a pair of rookies. They hadn’t called in, and with the P-com inoperative, they could expect no backup.
It’s done, he thought, so now it was time to think of a way out. He suddenly smiled to himself. He and Starling had been caught completely off-guard. The gunmen had relied on surprise. Perhaps he could turn the element of surprise back on the gunmen. It was time to make use of his heritage; his unique advantage. It would be risky, but at the very least, it should be totally unexpected.
He quickly stripped off his jacket, shirt and then removed the gravity harness. Prime was a planet with about eighty-five percent Earth-normal gravity, which made it about forty percent less than that of Lode’s gravity. He used the harness to compensate. Now
unfettered, his physique, bred and toned to Lode’s heavy gravity, should provide him a distinct advantage and one he hoped that the gunmen would be totally unprepared to deal with.
From his vantage point, Starling caught the motion and looked over towards his partner as Owens discarded the harness. His face went slack-jawed with wonder at the sight of Owens’ heavily muscled torso. Owens caught his eye and shrugged.
Owens hunkered further down and repositioned his feet, readying himself. Then, tensing his legs, he drove himself upwards in an abrupt leap; the great muscles in his legs propelled him in an arc, over a row of cubicles. Though he tried to angle his leap, he still sailed well above the tops of the cubicles. The two gunmen at the far end of the room were momentarily startled by Owens’ unexpected aerial maneuver. As Owens was falling back to the floor, he managed to get a shot off. He missed but hoped it was enough to make his assailants duck. He knew exactly where they were now. There still seemed to be only two of them.
His feet had barely touched the floor in the center of an aisle when he immediately launched himself again; this time in the direction of the gunmen’s position. At the top of his arc, he saw they were just regaining their feet and bringing up their weapons. They had recovered faster than he had hoped.
One of the gunmen had managed to get his weapon pointed in Owens’ general direction and must have fired instinctively. It was a near miss. Owens heard the gun’s roar and felt the impact of multiple pellets hitting his left side. He couldn’t tell how badly he was injured, but he didn’t feel any immediate pain. That would come later. He knew he couldn’t stop now; he was committed. He fervently hoped he could finish what he had started.
He hit the floor and rolled to his feet, running at a crouch towards the incredulous gunmen’s position behind a line of cubicles. He heard once more the angry blasts of their weapons’ discharge. Another nearby cubicle wall disintegrated. He was once more battered by falling debris, but couldn’t tell if he had been hit again. He stifled a cough and didn’t break his stride. He was much closer now.
He ducked further down, changing his direction along an aisle to his left and traveled parallel to the gunmen’s position. He stopped at the end of a line of cubicles. The gunmen’s weapons went off again. A cubicle was hit just behind him. At this rate, he was going to run out of cover. Still crouching, he went right, going down another aisle leading towards, but still to the left, of the gunmen’s position. He was only two rows of cubicles away from the shooters.
He gathered himself and leapt again, angling to the right, but much lower this time. He was close and they must have heard him. The gunmen figured him to jump again and had tried to anticipate where he would go. As he jumped, they were already firing. But this time he traveled in a much shallower arc, barely clearing the cubicles. Thinking he would repeat what he had done in the previous two jumps, they had aimed high and were off enough to miss him outright. Owens stretched his body in midair and grazed the top of a cubicle and over the upturned desk the gunmen were positioned behind.
As he landed behind them, they didn’t have time to get off another shot. They were crouched close together and Owens rebounded, managing to hit them both at once with his full weight. One of the gunmen was knocked backward, his rifle spinning from his hands. The other one had fallen to the floor and was trying to raise his weapon. Owens had dropped his own weapon when he struck the two men. Unarmed, he was forced to dive again for the rising gunman. He reached the weapon before the gunman could fire and ripped the shot-rifle from his hands. Popping and snapping sounds could be heard as some of the gunmen’s fingers were violently dislocated from Owens’ furious yank on the weapon. The gunman’s eyes bulged in pain, but he did not cry out.
Owens then turned his attention to the other assailant who had quickly recovered and was grabbing for a side arm. The man was fast, and he already had the weapon cleared from its holster. But Owens was faster. He went straight for the gunman, inside his guard. He hit the man in the throat with an elbow. The side arm’s energy discharge splashed off a nearby wall. Owens could feel the man’s larynx crush under the savage impact and could hear the muted thud of the dropped sidearm.
As the gunman’s body began to collapse, Owens turned back again to the other gunman. The man had a vibra-knife clutched in his good hand. He immediately lunged wildly at Owens. Owens easily avoided the blade and brought his hands up in a defensive stance.
“Drop your weapon, you’re under arrest.”
The man emitted an inarticulate grunt and lunged at Owens again. Owens blocked the knife-wielding hand at the wrist with an easy parry. The man backed off, looking for an opening.
“This is your last chance, drop the knife.”
The man’s answer was to feint towards Owens’ chest then he dropped low and went in, thrusting wildly for the lower area of Owens’ abdomen. Owens was just able to grab the wrist of the hand wielding the knife. His hand clenched and the blade fell from the man’s numbed fingers. His assailant immediately threw a punch with his free hand and struck a solid blow to Owens’ chest, but it wasn’t enough to make Owens release his grip.
Still holding the man’s wrist, Owens threw a punch of his own, solidly connecting with the man’s jaw. Owen hadn’t thought to soften the blow, and the gunman’s jaw broke with a loud, sickening crack. The man dropped to the floor unconscious. Owens quickly turned around, looking for any others. Not seeing anyone in the immediate area, he looked toward the nearest cubicles, checking for any more movement. Nothing was obvious.
He quickly retrieved his gun and cautiously went down each aisle, peering into cubicles. Finally, he finished his inspection and caught Starling’s eye at the other side of the room. He gave Starling a thumbs-up and motioned for him to stay put. Starling signaled back that he understood.
He returned to the place where he had felled the men and examined the two assailants. He confirmed the one with the crushed throat was dead. The other gunman with the broken jaw was still unconscious. Owens repositioned the man’s jaw so that he could breathe a little easier and checked both men for identification. He was not surprised at finding their pockets empty. He looked around the room again but could detect no other movement.
He started over towards Starling to tell him the two ambushers were out of action when he almost fell to his knees. He was struck by a hot wave pain from his injured side. He had forgotten that he had been shot. He looked down and saw that the skin on the right side of his torso was shredded. The wound extended to just below his belt line and the exposed flesh was raw and ugly; blood was flowing sluggishly from the wound and soaked his pants leg. He didn’t want to think about the condition of the skin and muscle beneath his tattered pants. “Damn,” he muttered between clenched teeth. Then in a stronger voice, “Hey partner, I could use a little help over here.”
Starling looked over at his partner, oblivious to the pain in Owens’ expression, his own face screwed up in puzzlement. “Just what in the hell was that? I’ve never seen anybody move that fast. Are you bio-augmented or something?”
Owens clutched his side, attempting to staunch the flow of blood he had been unaware of only minutes before. He straightened painfully and still little bent at the waist, shuffled closer to his partner. “No. I’m a Loder. I’m just a little stronger and faster than most; that's all.”
“A little stronger he says. You jumped like a goddamned quintelope. It would have been nice if you had told me about your special abilities.” Starling opened his mouth to say more, but finally noticed that Owens was bleeding and instead quickly reached for his wounded partner. “Shit, how bad are you hurt?”
“I don’t think it’s too serious, but I lost some skin and it hurts like a bitch; I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.”
Starling grabbed one of Owens’ arms, ducked under it to provide support and helped him to straighten up and hobble back towards the entrance. Owens was careful not to lean on him with his full weight. Starling maneuvered Owens to a nearby desk and had him
sit on its top. “Here,” Starling handed a rumpled handkerchief to Owens, “It’s clean. Use this to bind it.” Starling removed the belt from his ample waist and gave it to Owens.
Starling watched as Owens used the handkerchief and his belt to make-shift a pressure bandage. It didn’t cover the entire wound, but it had slowed the bleeding. Owens winced as he cinched up the belt. “Aw, don’t be such a baby,” Starling told Owens. “I’ve had worse injuries falling off a bar stool.”
“That’s easy for you…” Owens started then stopped. Behind Starling, the door from which they had entered suddenly hissed opened. Owens saw a human figure outlined in the threshold. It took a fraction of a second for him to register the weapon in the figure’s raised hand.
He screamed a warning to Starling and dove to his right. His moment of hesitation proved costly. Starling never had a chance. His partner had barely started to turn when his head exploded in a blast from the security woman’s weapon. Before she could turn her gun on Owens, he had fired several shots into the open doorway. Most of his shots went true. She collapsed into a boneless mass at the door’s threshold.
Owens rose from his prone position, staggered over and knelt before Starling’s body. Starling’s head had been completely severed from his body. He stared at the grisly sight. “Damn, damn it…” Owens whispered harshly. They had killed his partner and he was to blame. He should have reacted faster. But he hadn’t and now his partner was dead.
His thoughts spiraled down, flashing back on what had just happened to them. They had been set up from the beginning. A rage began to build inside of him, something hot and irrational. His heart began to pound wildly, the heat of growing anger flushing the pain from his body. The anger provided the needed focus. His mind traveled down a narrow channel, finally resolving into a sharp, single thought. His mind began to demand vengeance, “It’s time for payment…” He rose slowly from his kneeling position.
Shadows of Golstar Page 18
